


Love among the treadmills

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [17]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Instead of slamming into the floor, Bill found himself slamming into a chest. Strong arms curled around his torso before he could go plummeting down and it took him a moment to gather his bearings enough to find his feet.“Jesus, are you alright?” asked the man.Bill glanced over his shoulder at his saviour, taking in his big brown eyes and neatly combed hair. He had a rather delicate looking face despite being quite muscular.“Um,” said Bill. He hastily extracted himself from the mans arms. “I should be asking you that.”Bill decides to start going to the gym. He meets a rather handsome man there.





	Love among the treadmills

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this. The two Kaspbrough fics I've written are the first time I've forayed into Kaspbrough, so I hope I did a decent job of the pairing!
> 
> Also, with this fic, I've now written just over 200k for the IT fandom! :D

Bill examined himself in the full-body mirror inside his tailors changing room. It had been a while since he’d seen himself naked. Parked in front of a laptop as he often was, he didn’t have time to concern himself with his physical appearance. Not until today, that was. Today, he was preparing to attend his ex-fiance’s wedding, and it was an aristocratic event that he wanted – _needed_ – to look the part for.

None of this had anything to do with him being jealous of his ex’s partner, of course. He was 35, still a bachelor, and he hadn’t gone on a date in five years, but he wasn’t jealous.

(He was jealous).

He looked at himself from head to toe, taking note of his few assets: his long legs, his toned arms, his bright blue eyes and his red hair. He had a nice-looking face. A little prematurely lined from a turbulent upbringing, perhaps, but still nice. He wasn’t an unattractive man.

He ran his hands down his torso and grazed his fingers over the tawny auburn hairs that trailed into his briefs from his bellybutton. He could feel a hint of paunch in his stomach region. The beginnings of a beer gut (thought Bill didn’t drink much beer) and he frowned, curling his hands around the protruding flesh. He wasn’t sure a nice face would be enough to end his bachelor status if he had the body of an indolent fifty-year-old.

He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides, looking at himself from head to toe once more. It was strange how signs of age could creep up on you. He’d been feeling like a twenty-two-year-old for the past thirteen years, and here he was, thirty-five with a failed relationship, a growing belly, and nothing but his success as a writer to warm his bed at night. Success was nice, but success didn’t greet him in the morning with freshly cooked bacon or eggs, and nor did it curl up against his back at night and keep him warm through the winter months. What was the point of success if you didn’t have anyone to share it with?

He’d managed to stave off loneliness for a long time by dedicating himself to his work. But now, for the first time since breaking up with Audra, he was facing it head on, and he felt _terrible_. It made him feel even worse to know that he should have been _happy_ for Audra, but instead he was going on a self-pity tirade.

A knocking at the changing room door made him jump.

“Sir, have you finished trying on the suit? Is it to you liking?” a mans voice called.

Bill retrieved his pants from the floor and stuck his leg into one of the holes. “It’s fine, thank you. Give my gratitude to Byung-hun.”

Byung-hun Tsoi, his tailor, had yet to make him an ill-fitting suit. The wedding attire he had crafted for Bill was no exception.

He got his pants on, pulled on his t-shirt and cable-knit sweater, and exited the changing room with the suit hanging over his forearm. He didn’t look like he had any superfluous fat at all on his body when the suit was actually on. It was perfect.

“I paid ahead of time,” he told Byung-hun’s apprentice, who smiled and nodded. Bill didn’t know his name.

“I know. Mr. Tsoi mentioned it.” The boy moved to get the door for Bill. “He also said you are a writer. You wrote Attic Room. I saw the movie based on it – both are very good!”

Bill had a conflicting opinion. He didn’t feel the movie had done his book justice, but he didn’t say as much. He merely smiled and nodded. He had been required to do that a lot since joining Hollywood’s elite. His PR manager insisted that he maintain a positive attitude about every aspect of his work in public so to dissuade the media from making a spectacle of his life, and so far it had worked well enough. He’d attracted little media attention beyond the magazines screeching that they had always known things wouldn’t work out between Bill Denbrough and Audra Phillips.

He left with his suit and slipped into his car, throwing his newly purchased outfit into the back. He had a chauffeur that he could call up when needed, but he much preferred to drive himself around New York. He liked to observe the daily machinations of people while behind the wheel. Occasionally watching pedestrians gave him ideas for books and characters.

He pulled off the curb and headed for his apartment. He didn’t have anything else scheduled for today, so he figured he might as well situate himself in front of his laptop and try to get some words down. The deadline for his next publication wasn’t for six months, but it paid (quite literally) to be prudent.

He didn’t get more than a couple of blocks before screeching to a halt. There was a small, 24/7 Gym on the corner of the street. The perfect place to recover his self-confidence. Upon further inspection, he realised the Gym was ‘women only’, but that didn’t matter; the idea had burrowed its way into his mind and he was resolved to find himself a Gym to join by morning.

The first thing he did upon returning home was retrieve his laptop from his study and google around for a nearby Gym. He found several. Some of them were small and modest, with only the bare necessities, while others were towering buildings that contained their own pool and sauna and private training rooms. There were so many choices that Bill was finding it hard to select one. He wanted a Gym that wasn’t too big nor busy, but one with enough facilities that he would never be wanting for anything. There weren’t many that were small and offered extras. He did find a medium-sized Gym, however, that offered a trial period of a week to anyone that signed up online. That seemed a good place to start.

Bill applied for the trial and printed out the temporary membership card provided by the site. He slid it into his pocket. If all went well, he would soon be replacing it with something more long-term.

As he hadn’t exercised in a while, Bill decided to check his drawers for some Gym appropriate clothes. He didn’t find any. He didn’t even own a pair of _sweatpants._  All his trousers were either jeans or slacks or – as a consequence of terrible decision making – _jorts_.

With a sigh, Bill retrieved his keys from their hook and stepped back outside. He had some shopping to do.

* * *

He arrived at his selected Gym at eight thirty. That seemed a respectable time to start an exercise routine, though it was much earlier than he would usually be out and about. He presented his printed-out membership card to reception, stowed his belongings in a locker, and headed into the cardio theatre. For a moment, all he did was stand at the entrance and marvel at the vast array of equipment. There were some machines he hadn’t even seen before, and nor was he able to figure out what some of them did from sight alone. There was so much _choice_. Too much, in fact, as Bill hadn’t given any thought as to where he should start. He’d just come with a general idea of what he wanted – to get rid of his belly fat. That was all the guidance he’d thought he’d need. Now, looking at all the available equipment, he was starting to realise just how little he knew about exercising.

Bill considered the treadmills for a long moment. That was one piece of equipment he was familiar with. While he’d never used one, he’d seen them plenty on television and even written about them in his books. Whether or not they were the machine he should be using for his specific problem, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t see the harm in using it as a starting point. He would acquaint himself with the rest of the equipment later.

He put his water bottle on the ground, by his chosen treadmill, and stepped up onto the platform. He probably should have done some warm-up, but since he’d walked here, he decided to forgo it. It was just exercising his legs, anyway.

Bill examined the options on the display. The speed was currently set at 8 mph. He didn’t feel any need to change that, so he pressed the _go_ button and prepared to start moving. His preparations must not have been quick enough, however, as he lost his balance shortly after the machine began to move. He hadn't had the forethought to grab onto the brace bars, and consequently he went flying backwards, flailing his arms like an idiot.

Instead of slamming into the floor, Bill found himself slamming into a chest. Strong arms curled around his torso before he could go plummeting down and it took him a moment to gather his bearings enough to find his feet.

“Jesus, are you alright?” asked the man.

Bill glanced over his shoulder at his saviour, taking in his big brown eyes and neatly combed hair. He had a rather delicate looking face despite being quite muscular.

“Um,” said Bill. He hastily extracted himself from the mans arms. “I should be asking you that.”

“No harm done,” said the man, smiling. “That was quite a throw. You didn’t pull anything, did you? Didn’t hurt your back?”

Bill shook his head. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed.”

The man chuckled. “Don’t be. You aren’t the first to make that mistake and you won’t be the last.” He approached the machine and adjusted the speed. “I recommend starting from three. It gives you time to get into the rhythm. These machines are a little outdated, so they move entirely too fast sometimes.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Bill shuffled awkwardly on the spot. “I’m Bill, by the way. Bill Denbrough.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill,” said Eddie, extending a hand. Strangely formal, but Bill took it anyway, giving it a shake. He had a gentle grip. “I’m Eddie. Kaspbrak.”

“Kaspbrak? Like the chauffeur service?”

“My service, yes.” Eddie released his hand. “I wasn’t aware we were that renowned.”

“I’ve used it before,” said Bill. “I’m a writer, so I’ve the need to showboat on the odd occasion.”

Bill knew the chauffeur service had to earn Eddie at least six digits each year, but he didn’t look the part of a wealthy man. He wore modest blue jogger shorts and a tight-fitting black tank. They looked to be Walmart brand. Bill, in his expensive new Gymshark ensemble, felt a little overdressed in comparison.

“I think my driver was named Myra,” Bill added. “She was a very sweet lady.”

“Myra.” Eddie set his hands on his hips, his brow wrinkling. “Goodness, that must have been a while ago, then. She hasn’t been part of the company for a good five years.”

“I don’t use private transport often,” said Bill, shrugging. “I like to drive.”

“In New York? You’re one of the few,” said Eddie.

“People always say writers tend to be eccentric.”

“I consider that a good thing,” said Eddie, not quite looking at Bill as he smiled, his gaze far away. But just for a moment. “I’ve read some of your books,” he went on, folding his arms over his chest. “Horror isn’t usually my preference, but you have a way with words, Mister Denbrough. I would have mentioned this beforehand, but I didn’t want to make assumptions as to what Bill Denbrough you were.”

“Do you know many Bill Denbrough’s?” asked Bill, arching an eyebrow.

“Just you,” Eddie admitted. “But it saves me embarrassment if I wait for confirmation.”

“Sounds like I could learn a thing or two from you,” said Bill with a sigh, sliding a foot tentatively back onto the treadmill platform. Eddie lingered behind him, presumably in case Bill went flying off again.

“I’m guessing you mean that in the context of using the machines here,” said Eddie.

“I’m not…” Bill hesitated on his words. He was trying to find a way to describe his circumstances without making himself seem lazy. “Big on gyms,” he finished.

“I’m surprised to find you at one, then,” said Eddie, and then paused, seeming to wait for something. Bill chuckled. That, apparently, was what he’d been waiting for, as he grinned and drew closer. “I know I’m a stranger, but I could help you get accustomed to the gym, if you like. It’ll be nice to have company.”

“One would think you’d get plenty of that in your line of work,” said Bill, now lightly jogging.

“Company isn’t quite as enjoyable when it’s part of your job," said Eddie. “So, shall I grab my water bottle, or will you be alright on your own?”

“Go ahead,” said bill, gesturing to the treadmills at his sides. “I could use the help.”

“Great. I’ll- I’ll be right back, Mister Denbrough.”

“Bill,” Bill corrected him. “Call me Bill. There’s no need for formalities.”

“Sure, Bill,” said Eddie, and he crossed the room to where some weights were sitting, retrieving a water bottle and a bulging duffel bag from the floor. The water bottle was the largest Bill had ever seen. It had to be two litres, at the very least. He returned a moment later and set himself up at Bill’s side, reaching into his bag and retrieving a towel, which he used to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

Bill eyed the contents of the bag. It was such a big bag that his gaze was drawn to it. He was discreet about his interest, looking out of the corner of his eye, and he spied some Gatorade, energy bars, a monitor of some kind, several pill bottles (he noticed one had ‘diet pill’ plastered in a corner), a bottle of Mylanta, an aspirator and spacer, and some other things he didn’t manage to identify before the bag was zipped up. Eddie came off as quite the health nut.

“So, uh… do you come here often?” asked Bill. God, what a stupid conversation starter; of course he did! This gym was membership exclusive! He wanted to kick himself.

Fortunately, Eddie seemed to find this question amusing. “Well, I haven’t been using my membership card as a bookmark, that’s for sure.” He stepped up onto his own treadmill, setting the speed to eight. “I come every day, if possible. For at least thirty minutes a day. That’s the amount of exercise recommended by doctors.”

“Thirty minutes? That’s not much.”

“It adds up,” said Eddie.

“It certainly does,” said Bill, looking pointedly at Eddie’s pecs, which were prominent behind his tank. He probably had a six pack, too.

Eddie glanced back. “I used to be a real wiry kid, believe it or not. I had a stomach on me, thanks to my mothers cooking, but no muscle at all.”

“Didn’t like exercising?” asked Bill. He had been an active kid, himself. He’d spent so much time on his bike, Silver, that it was a miracle that he hadn't worn the tires down to the rim.

“No, I _loved_ it,” said Eddie. “Running felt great, and I loved baseball. My mother just wouldn’t let me participate in gym.”

“Yeah?” Bill cast him a curious look. “Why not?”

“I have asthma,” he said, gesturing to his bag. “She thought it’d kill me. She started to wise up a little when the world became more health conscious, but it took a long time for me to start exercising.”

“What gave you the final push?”

“My ex-partner,” said Eddie. He slowed the treadmill down a few notches, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Well, my wife-to-be, but we never got that far. She was health conscious too, like my mother, but she recognised the value in exercise, even if she wasn’t much for it herself. She did yoga, I went to the gym.” He shrugged. “I’ve been going ever since.”

“She had the right idea,” said Bill as he leaned his forearms on the treadmill display. He hadn’t been going more than a few minutes and already he was tired. He really was out of shape.

“I think so too.” Eddie leaned down, taking a swig from his water bottle before continuing. “Best thing that came out of that relationship was adding the gym to my routine.”

“Not a very fulfilling relationship, then?” asked Bill.

“Well…” Eddie trailed off, flapping a hand. “I won’t bother you with my life story. How about I tell you my routine?”

Bill turned up the speed on his treadmill, glancing over at Eddie as the belt began to accelerate. “It wouldn’t be a bother, but go right ahead.” His voice was breathy as he spoke. He thought it incredible that Eddie managed to speak without any inflection despite doing a jog.

Eddie divulged his morning routine: ten minutes on the treadmill to get him warmed up – these ten minutes didn’t count toward his thirty minute goal. He would then do ten minutes on the bench with a barbell, ten minutes with the dumbbells (these came after so to not exhaust his arms), and ten minutes on the ab glider. If he had the time to get in additional exercise, he would hop on the Horizontal Seated Leg Press to give his legs and glutes a workout and finish off with another ten minutes on the treadmill.

Bill was stunned; he couldn’t imagine doing all of that in one morning. When he voiced this, Eddie laughed and told him it wasn’t an exercise routine meant for a beginner, and that he would happily lend Bill the first exercise routine he’d used upon joining the gym. It contained no use of barbells or dumbbells, and nor any of the other heavier machines, but that suited Bill just fine. He had no interest in turning himself into a bulky mass of muscle; he just wanted to get rid of the extra fat clinging to his bones.

When Eddie had finished his routine, and Bill his, they sat on a nearby bench and chatted away the rest of the morning. They spoke about everything from politics to TV shows until noon arrived, at which point Bill realised he’d lost track of time. He hadn’t had a conversation partner quite as engaging as Eddie in… well, years, probably. Being an introvert, he didn’t socialise much, and those he did socialise with were usually speaking to him out of obligation.

He bid Eddie farewell, standing from the bench, but Eddie stopped him before he could make it to the door.

“Um,” said Eddie, much less verbose than he had been a moment ago. “May I ask what time you intend to arrive at the gym?”

Bill stared at him a long moment, then said, “I’m going for eight thirty.”

“I’ll see you at eight thirty, then,” said Eddie.

Bill took his leave, waving over his shoulder at Eddie. It looked like he’d gained a friend.

* * *

They met up at the stated time. Eddie handed over his exercise routine, written neatly on pad paper, and answered any questions Bill had. He even offered to demonstrate how to use each piece of equipment mentioned, but Bill declined, flustered by his own ignorance. He would figure it out on his own time instead of wasting Eddie’s.

The routine was easy enough. It involved the treadmill and a few weights and not much else. Eddie had written in neat writing at the bottom that he could incorporate different machines as he gained experience, but Bill didn’t expect that to happen for a while, seeing as he was getting tired within a few minutes of starting his current routine. This was what happened when one spent most of their time sitting in front of a computer.

He wasn’t able to indulge Eddie in chat when he reached the treadmills, exhausted as he was. His muscles ached. His head throbbed. No amount of speed-walking through New York could have prepared him for a proper workout. He was going to find it difficult to get up tomorrow morning. He was so exhausted that he had to smile in lieu of replying to Eddie’s comments, but Eddie continued on regardless, offering him encouragement and tips. They were tentatively extended, but extended all the same, and Bill appreciated that.

It was only at the end of the exercise routine that they got the opportunity to chat properly. They slumped onto their customary bench and Bill chugged down the contents of his water bottle, having forgotten to drink periodically while exercising. His parched throat was immediately soothed. He moaned, letting his head thump back against the wall.

Eddie stared at this display for a long moment, idly towelling down his face. He watched with surprising attentiveness, like Bill was some foreign creature. And he supposed he might have been. A famous writer subjecting himself to the gym – you didn’t see that every day. Most in his position would have used a private facility, but Bill was more frugal than that. He wasn’t sure what he was saving his money for; for a family he didn’t have, and might never have? But he was saving it all the same.

“How was it?” Eddie asked after a significant pause.

“The routine?” he asked. Eddie nodded. “Good,” he said, wiping his face down with his shirt. He hadn’t had the forethought to bring a towel. “I think I’m dying, but still good.”

Eddie, to his surprise, whipped out an additional towel from among his supplies and handed it to Bill. “I always bring extra,” Eddie explained, answering his unspoken question. “I usually bring at least three towels, actually – but anyway, it’ll take a few weeks for your body to get used to the exertion. If you need to, though, take a break. Overexerting yourself is possible if you haven’t exercised in some time.”

Bill scrubbed his hair and face with the towel, then let it hang over his shoulders. “I'll have this back at your place by noon,” said Bill, crossing his legs and leaning back. “I have a cleaning service that leaves my stuff smelling like peaches, _and_ they do delivery.”

“Lovely as that sounds,” said Eddie, reaching into his bag for his Gatorade. “You can keep it as long as you need it. I brought an additional towel today since I noticed you didn’t bring one yesterday.”

“Wow.” Bill chuckled. “Kind of wish you were my life coach. I’d never forget to pack stuff ever again.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little too busy for that.” Eddie zipped up his bag, casting Bill a smile. “But I can manage most mornings and weekends.”

“I’ll pay you in Gatorade,” said Bill with a grin. “Any flavors you like in particular?”

“Green apple.”

“Green apple? I didn’t even know they had that flavor.”

“You’re missing out, then.” Eddie wiped himself down a little more with the towel before continuing. “Do you have anything else to do this morning?” he asked.

Bill shrugged. “I might go grocery shopping. Other than that, not really.”

“Ah,” said Eddie. He fiddled with a thread on his towel. “Well, if you’re… I mean…” He gnawed on the edge of a lip, and Bill regarded him curiously. Upon noticing Bill’s stare, Eddie cleared his throat and looked away. “I won’t keep you, then. Wouldn’t want you to be late for… grocery shopping…” His voice trailed off, as though bewildered by his own words.

Bill, too, was bewildered, but he didn’t say as much. He felt that would be rude, and Bill generally wasn’t rude unless he was with friends (not that he had many to speak of these days). He gave his neck a rough rub down with the towel and started to hand it back, but Eddie held up a hand.

“Like I said, you can keep it. And have a quick shower before you go. You’ll feel refreshed.”

“Thanks, man,” said Bill, offering him a tentative smile. He was so charitable. That was an unusual quality for a New Yorker to have.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Eddie.

Bill nodded and headed for the showers. He pondered just what Eddie had been trying to ask earlier as he washed and dried, but that thought had drifted from his mind by the time he reached his car.

* * *

They spoke regularly over the next several weeks, with Eddie taking on the role of a personal trainer. Bill felt a little bad about that. Surely Eddie had a packed enough schedule without putting time aside to help Bill, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, when Bill mentioned that he would happily pay Eddie in cash rather than Gatorade for his services, he insisted that Bill’s company was payment enough. Bill was flattered, though he still felt like he was taking advantage.

It took a week for them to finally exchange numbers, and an additional two for them to broach the topic of seeing each other outside the gym. Bill suggested meeting up at a pub, while Eddie – well, he had a  _different_ idea.

“There’s a nice restaurant I frequent,” said Eddie, his voice barely above a mumble. He ran his towel up into his damp hair, scrubbing hard as he spoke. They’d just had a shower. “It serves really good Chinese.”

“I _could_ go for some Chinese,” said Bill. “Usually I just get takeout, though.”

“Well, we could do that too, but a restaurant is more traditional.”

“For dates, sure,” said Bill, smiling, and when Eddie stared at him in silence for several long seconds, it started to register just what Eddie was trying to ask.

 _Oh_.

Bill slapped his forehead. “Oh, fuck, I didn’t realise you were-“

“Gay?”

“Asking me out on a date,” said Bill, shaking his head. Eddie become visibly crestfallen. “Not that that’s a problem. I’ve dated guys before.” Sort of, if making out with guys at college could be counted as ‘dating’.

Eddie appeared relieved. “Really? That’s good. I thought I’d just asked out a straight guy.”

“Straight? When I walk around in cardigans?” Bill scoffed. “I’m kidding, but I’ve been told only gay and old people wear cardigans.”

“That’s an accurate assessment,” said Eddie, giving a nervous titter. “So, um… is that a yes or no?”

“When’re you free next?” asked Bill.

“Oh, er… Friday at seven?”

“Sounds good,” said Bill, drawing his iPhone out of a back pocket. He handed it to Eddie. “Put the address in and I’ll meet you there.”

Eddie examined the case of Bill’s phone for a minute – it’d been a gift from a fan and had been decorated with images of popular Slasher characters – and then carefully submitted Bill’s number, exhibiting great concentration. It was clear he hadn’t used an iPhone before. When Eddie returned the phone, Bill found Eddie had submitted the address to his contacts book instead of putting it in the GPS.

“Not an apple fan, huh?” he asked.

“I… am,” said Eddie uncertainly. “I like apples.”

It took everything Bill had not to laugh. “I mean the company apple. The one that produces iPhones.”

“Oh? I just use this.” Eddie reached into his duffel bag and withdrew a silver flip phone. “It’s a Sanyo SCP-5300, straight from Japan. It serves me well.”

“Wow,” said Bill. It had _buttons_. “What’s that from? Two thousand?”

“Two thousand and two,” Eddie informed him, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He gave it an appraising little pat. “They don’t create phones like they used to, you know. This one has yet to fail me.”

Thinking back to his previous five iPhones, two of which had to be replaced after becoming defunct, Bill was inclined to agree. That said, he couldn’t imagine being able to function without an iPhone. He used it for just about everything, even scribbling down ideas on the go (he had a little input pen).

He put away his own phone and reached for his supplies bag, pulling on a fresh t-shirt and his blue cardigan. His hair was a mess, completely dishevelled, but he didn’t have a comb to neaten it up with. He always forgot to bring one.

“God, I look like a mess,” he muttered, squinting at himself in the mirror. He had a meeting with his publisher in half an hour. He would need to make a very, very brief trip home.

“Here,” said Eddie, reaching over, tentatively hovering a comb over Bill’s mop of hair. It didn't surprise Bill that he had one on hand. Eddie seemed to have everything in that duffel bag of his.

Bill leaned toward his hands, and only then did Eddie start neatening his hair for him, brushing it back from his forehead.  “You have nice hair. A little long. Any reason for that?”

“I had it long in the nineties,” said Bill. It was surprising just how pleasant having another person brush your hair could be. He was practically purring. “I guess I… mm… can’t be bothered cutting it back. Plus it’s cold here and it keeps my ears warm.”

“Practical,” said Eddie, brushing the nape of Bill’s neck with his warm fingers. Even that slight touch was enough to make Bill shiver. Bill wished he could cancel his meeting so Eddie could continue doing that. Having not dated anyone in a few years, he was a little touch starved. “There,” said Eddie approvingly, directing Bill to look at the mirror. “Did I do alright?”

“You did great.” He was tempted to mess his hair up so Eddie would have to fix it again, but he thought better of that; if he lingered any longer, he’d end up running late, and his publisher would _not_ be happy with that.

“Glad to be of service,” said Eddie, leaning his ass on a sink. “So, I’ll see you Friday, huh?”

“And tomorrow,” said Bill, grinning. “I’m not going to forgo gym just because we’re going on a date. I think I’m finally getting a hang of things.”

“You certainly look it, too,” said Eddie.

Bill’s cheeks warmed and he ducked his head. “Thanks, man. It’s good to know all my sweat and perhaps a few tears isn’t for nothing.”

“Definitely not.” Eddie gave himself a stretch and yawned. “You have a good morning, Bill.”

“You too, Eddie.”

He left the gym feeling elated and enthusiastic for that coming Friday. The last time he’d been on a date had been… god, such a long time ago. He hadn’t dated much during college and he hadn’t dated at all after things fell through with Audra. Hopefully he remembered enough about date etiquette not to make a fool of himself.

* * *

Now that he recognised Eddie as a potential romantic partner, Bill started to have thoughts about him of the un-platonic variety. He’d taken notice of Eddie’s build in the past, noting his impressive biceps and toned thighs, but at the time, he’d noted them out of a desire to emulate them. Now, he was wondering what it would be like to be between those legs or to have those strong biceps wrapped around him. Pretty nice, he imagined.

He turned red at these thoughts, squirming in his bed and throwing his arms over his face. Eddie was an attractive man. An attractive man with a strong jaw, big brown eyes, and a fantastic body, one which Bill had seen much of. It was far too early into their friendship – relationship? – to start masturbating to Eddie, so Bill forced himself not to indulge in that particular vice. That didn’t mean he couldn’t wonder what intimacy with Eddie might be like, though.

He opted to take a taxi on the day of the date. He tended to dawdle his way around New York and he didn’t trust himself not to be late. When he arrived at the Chinese restaurant, he did so with self-inflicted nervousness. He’d spent so much time imagining this relationship working that now he _needed_ it to work. He needed them to be compatible. He felt stupid, needy, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He would just have to go on the date and hope for the best. And, of course, try not to screw his chances by being awkward.

Eddie was waiting for him out front. He waved to Bill, who waved back, grinning like a dork.

“Ready to go in?” asked Eddie, looking rather lovely in his red jacket, black slacks, and Gucci loafers. Bill was under dressed in comparison, having gone for a plaid red shirt, jeans, and a black tee with Chucky the Killer Doll on it. He enjoyed dressing up, but he hadn’t thought this was _that_ kind of date.

He self-consciously folded his arms over his chest. “Damn, you look really good," he said, sighing and heading for the entrance. “Let’s go. You’re too handsome to be out in the open.”

Eddie gave a little titter, which made Bill’s heart leap. He had such a sweet laugh. “You too, Bill,” he said warmly. “Love the shirt. Me and a friend of mine – Stan – snuck into the cinema as kids to watch that movie. It gave me nightmares for weeks.”

“I often did the same,” said Bill, smiling wistfully. He and Richie had snuck into the cinema so often that the owners had installed a one-way lock on the fire exit (or entrance, in their case).

They stepped into the restaurant and were directed to a quiet corner table by the receptionist. Eddie had booked a table for them ahead of time. Seating themselves across from each other, Bill fiddled with the menu, mulling over what to order. Whatever he got, he knew it would have black bean sauce - he couldn’t get enough of black bean sauce.

They made idle chat until the waitress came. With her big green eyes, long ginger hair and red lips, she was quite the looker.

“What can I get you, boys?” asked the woman, her mouth curving into an alluring smile. Bill noticed Eddie barely even glanced up at her, as though they weren’t being waited on by a bombshell of a woman, and what notice he did take of her held no recognition of her looks.

Gay, then. Definitely gay and not bi.

They made their order, then continued their conversation. He learned a few interesting details about Eddie: First, he’d grown up in Derry, Maine. Bill briefly remembered living there himself (small world), but his parents had moved him to Bangor before he could forge any lasting memories of the place. His parents hadn't wanted to remain in Derry after Bill's little brother had passed away. Second, he had dated several men in the past few years, but only one woman, who had been Myra. He had come to terms with the fact he was exclusively into men while dating her, which had been difficult on them both. Third, he hadn’t actually gone to college intending to start a transport service. He had initially wanted to be a mechanic, which was the antithesis of what his mother had wanted for him and had thus appealed to him. It was in fact a professor who had encouraged him to start the business, who had seen potential in Eddie and had insisted it not be wasted. Sadly, that professor had since passed away. Eddie would periodically leave poppies on his grave.

Bill found Eddie increasingly charming and interesting and tried to provide his own stories, though he felt his own life was comparatively far more boring and depressing. No one really wanted to hear about the kid who had lost their little brother at the age of ten and spent the following eight years being ignored by his parents, especially not on a first date. He kept to lighthearted stories, nothing too personal. There would come a time where he would be comfortable enough to tell Eddie all the dirty details of his upbringing, or so he hoped, but for now, he would divulge the many funny anecdotes he had courtesy of Richie Tozier.

Bill found himself relaxing the longer the date went on. Why ever had he been anxious? He couldn’t quite remember, now. Eddie had a way of making one feel very at ease. While he clearly suffered from anxiety problems, he was a pleasant man to be around, engaging and fun, and… Bill was steadily becoming very smitten with him. Even more so than before.

They ended up getting so involved with each other that they were the last to leave the restaurant. Having had three glasses of wine, Bill was tipsy, giggly. He leaned into Eddie, who caught him around the shoulders to ensure he didn’t go plummeting to the sidewalk.

“You’re a fun guy, you know that?” Bill grinned at Eddie, who smiled shyly back.

“I don’t hear that often. I mean, I _try_ to be, but…” He flapped a hand, squeezing Bill to his side. “Anyway, you got a taxi here, right? I can drive you home if you want.”

“Sounds good,” said Bill. “I’ll make you some tea. I have liquorice flavoured.”

“Yeah? How long have you been waiting for an opportunity to make someone taste your liquorice tea?”

“Ever since I discovered it,” said Bill, laughing. “It’s good! I swear it is.”

“I’ll try liquorice tea if you promise to try gin and prune juice,” said Eddie as he guided Bill toward the car park. Eddie drove a silver Lexus. Showier than Bill would have expected of a man like Eddie, but then, Eddie _was_ wearing Gucci loafers. He probably splurged on things that would make his status clear to any potential customers. Celebrities didn’t often mingle with the common rabble, after all (except Bill, but he didn’t really consider himself a celebrity).

“Gin and prune juice.” Bill wrinkled his nose. “I’ll give it a try, but I’ll probably gag.”

“It’s good,” Eddie insisted. “And good for your health.”

“Well, I don’t doubt the latter part,” said Bill with a snort.

They slid into his car. As he drew on his seat belt, he noted how wide and comfortable the seats were, and god, the leg room – even his car didn’t have this much leg room, and it had run him forty thousand dollars. He supposed, working in the car business, Eddie _had_ to have cars this nice.

They pulled out of the parking lot and Bill leaned his head into the window, pleasantly vague. He didn’t drink often. Maybe the occasional glass of wine before bed, but that was all. He wasn’t much of a socialite, and social drinking was the only way one _should_ drink; otherwise, it was just sad.

Eddie put on the radio while they drove. Not onto music, but news. It was the first time Bill had met someone who still took news from the _radio_. Granted, given the age of his phone, it shouldn’t have been surprising.

“So,” said Eddie, eyeing him. “Where exactly do you live?”

“Oh, right.” Bill cleared his throat. “Not far from here, actually. Take the left at the next traffic lights, then a right, then turn down Witchem, and I’m in the apartment complex on that street.”

“An apartment?” asked Eddie, arching an eyebrow.

Bill shrugged. “I’m only one person. Don’t need a house. It’s comfortable.”

“I’m a little surprised, is all.” Eddie made the first turn. “Most celebrities have a house purely for show.”

“Well… I’m not really a celebrity, am I? Just a humble writer.”

“Humble?” Eddie smiled at him. “Your name was on the title screen of the recent movie that came out, in larger font than anyone else’s.”

“Yeah, well…” Bill shrugged. “I deserved it.”

“Humble,” said Eddie with a snort. Bill elbowed him.

“Don’t bully me. We’re on a date.”

“Alright, alright. No bullying.”

Eddie slowed as he approached their next turn. His gaze was on the road, but Bill could tell his attention was equally divided between driving and Bill. He probably had a lot of practice entertaining passengers while navigating New York’s busy streets.

They chatted idly the rest of the way to Bill’s place. Once there, Bill guided Eddie through the reception hall, into an elevator, and to his quiet little apartment on the second-to-top floor of the building. The higher up you were, the less likely you were to have neighbours, hence Bill’s choice.

“It’s not much to look at,” said Bill as he introduced Eddie to the lounge room, gesturing for him to take a seat. “But it does the job.”

“It’s clean,” Eddie noted. “Spacious, too.”

“I have a cleaner come once a week.” Bill headed for his kitchen cupboards. He had some liquorice teabags, gin, and prune juice he needed to scrounge up.

“I do as well,” said Eddie. “Twice a week, actually. I don’t have My… I don’t have anyone to clean while I’m at work anymore, and I don’t much enjoy doing it myself.”

“Neither do I,” said Bill over his shoulder. He retrieved two mugs from a cupboard and dropped two sugars into each, followed by a liquorice tea bag, and then started the kettle. While that was going, he searched around the refrigerator and alcohol cabinet for prune juice and gin. He knew he had some of each. Not much, but enough to fill at least one glass. “Only thing I really like doing is cooking,” he continued, bringing the ingredients for his odd little concoction to a kitchen counter. “You eat your entire life. Might as well learn to cook so you always eat well, right?”

“I don’t have time, unfortunately, and my previous partner always insisted on cooking for me, so I didn’t have any motivation to make time either,” said Eddie with a shrug. “I eat out, usually.”

“Unless you’re making gin with prune juice?”

“I don’t think that can be considered a meal.” Eddie leaned over the arm of his chair, watching Bill prepare the gin and prune juice with a grin.

Bill only made a small drink. He’d already had three glasses of wine and he didn’t want to go all ‘giggly drunk’ on Eddie.

Sliding the tea and prune juice infused gin onto a tray, he carried it over to the couch and set it down on the coffee table, seating himself beside Eddie. Their shoulders brushed. He couldn’t help but notice how broad Eddie’s were.

“S-so, er…” He offered Eddie a cup of tea. Eddie took it with a grateful smile. “Tell me what you think. I can give you the name of the store if you like it.”

Eddie took a sip, smacked his lips, and shrugged. “Not bad,” he admitted, taking another sip. Tentatively, because the mug was still steaming.

“Guess it’s my turn then, huh?” Bill reached for the gin and prune juice. He brought a box of tissues into reach just in case he gagged. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic about it,” Eddie admonished. “It’s really not that bad.”

“I’m the one putting it in my mouth, so I’ll be the judge of that.” He brought the gin up to his lips, taking a very small, tentative sip. Eddie rolled his eyes again and said nothing, sipping his own drink.

In all honesty, it wasn’t that bad. Certainly not good, and not something he would drink voluntarily, but not _bad_. He’d tasted worse during his forays into cocktails.

He took a larger sip and placed the mostly-empty glass on the coffee table. On a coaster, of course.

“You were right,” he conceded. “Not the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth.”

“What is the worst thing you’ve put in your mouth, then?” asked Eddie, taking another sip of his drink.

Bill made a thoughtful sound. “A spider I didn’t realise had crawled onto my toast. I ended up vomiting up everything I’d eaten that morning.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting.”

“Tell me about it,” said Bill with a laugh. “I didn’t eat toast for a month after that, and now I check my toast after every bite.”

“I may start doing that myself, now.” Eddie gave a shudder. “Let’s move on to something nicer. What’s the _best_ thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?”

"The best thing I've put in my mouth, huh?" Bill covered his face with a hand, stifling a burst of giggles. He was always easy to amuse while intoxicated. “God, I’m sorry,” he said with difficulty. “But that’s such a double entendre.” His cheeks coloured faintly, but he’d had enough to drink that it probably wasn’t noticeable.

Eddie spluttered, his own cheeks starting to colour, then gulped down what remained of his tea. It took him several long seconds to recover his voice. “Well, w-would you…” A deep breath. “Would you like a taste of something nice?” Upon finishing this question, he put his teacup aside and let his face drop to his hands. “That sounded a lot better when I thought of it. Damn it. I’m sorry, it’s been a while, and I-“

“Hey, calm down.” Bill lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “I do, in fact, want you dick in my mouth, so there’s no reason to get embarrassed. I would’ve asked eventually if you hadn’t, and probably would have been less coy about it.”

“Oh.” Eddie wrung his hands in his lap. "Are- are you sure? You're not drunk, right?"

"Of course I'm not drunk," said Bill, shaking his head. "You'd know if I was drunk, since I wouldn't be able to string together a sentence without being made incomprehensible by my slurring." He held up a finger. "I wouldn't be able to say incomprehensible, either." 

"Um, okay." Eddie reached down and carefully worked his belt buckle open. “Okay, I- I have a condom on hand, if you need it for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bill didn’t expect a health nut like Eddie to give him a STD, particularly not from a blowjob alone.

He slid to the floor and crawled between Eddie’s legs, leaning his cheek against one of Eddie’s knees while the man fumbled to get his belt off. Once it was out of the way, Eddie undid his zipper and reached into his boxers to unveil a nice, thick, veiny cock. It was a good size. It was a wonder his trousers managed to conceal it so well.

Bill licked his lips and tentatively curled his long, writers’ fingers around the base of Eddie’s cock. It always amazed him how hot cocks were, how they pulsed in his grip. He glanced up at Eddie’s face, examining his flushed cheeks through his lashes, then leaned down and licked a stripe along the underside of Eddie’s cock. Eddie let out a small, strangled groan and brought a hand to Bill’s hair, guiding him closer, but not with any real force.

“It's been a while, huh?” he asked, then he latched his mouth onto the head of Eddie’s cock and licked over the slit. Eddie inhaled sharply.

“Yes,” he said, a little indignantly. Eddie stroked his fingers over Bill’s scalp, encouraging him. “I’ll try to warn you before I finish.”

With his mouth full of cock, Bill couldn’t answer. He didn't care to, either. He slid down to the rigid base of Eddie’s cock and swirled his tongue around as much of it as he could reach. His gag reflex snarled at the back of his throat, but he ignored it, settling into a steady bob. While Bill hadn’t sucked many cocks in his time, he’d watched enough amateur gay porn to have a good idea of what people liked. And his efforts were paying off, seeing as Eddie’s thighs began to tremble under his ministrations. He would have smiled were his lips not so stretched.

He drew up, took a breath, and then slammed back down. Eddie’s hand jerked in his hair, raking through the auburn strands. His nails scraped along Bill’s scalp, but Bill didn’t mind; it felt _good_. He had never thought himself a masochist, but he found himself wishing Eddie would grab him by his hair and push him down onto his cock, rough and ruthless in his want for pleasure. Eddie _clearly_ wasn’t the type, so Bill contented himself with sliding down until Eddie’s cock hit the soft back of his throat. It brought tears to his eyes, but the effort was worth it to hear Eddie groan and feel Eddie bend over him, his hand involuntarily pressing at the base of Bill's scalp. Bill hollowed his cheeks and sucked. 

He had to give his throat a break periodically. He would stroke his thumb in circular motions over the head of Eddies' cock while he swallowed to soothe his throat, then slide back down onto Eddie's cock, stroking the base as he resumed sucking. It didn't take long for this to prompt Eddie to let out a shout and twist his fingers into Bill’s hair, tugging him off his cock to avoid spilling into his throat. He instead sent his seed splattering onto Bill’s lips and the bridge of his nose, come sliding down his pale skin in thick strings.

Eddie slumped back against the couch. He was breathing in heavy pants and shivering. It must have been quite the explosive orgasm to leave him in such a state. Bill, for his part, was horrendously aroused, but he had no intention of letting Eddie help him with that. The man looked tired.

“Shit,” mumbled Eddie as he looked down at Bill. “I was going to grab a tissue and do it into that. Just wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Bill, starting to rise. Eddie stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“At least let me clean you up.” Eddie withdrew a packet of tissues from his breast pocket. They were the scented kind, smelling faintly of eucalyptus. He plucked two out, scrunched them up, and deftly wiped the come off Bill’s face, careful to remove every drop. Bill would still need to wash his face later, but he appreciated the effort.

“Thanks,” he said, dragging himself back onto the couch beside Eddie.

Eddie threw the sullied tissues into a nearby waste basket. “It’s the least I could do. Speaking of…” He looked pointedly at the bulge in Bill’s trousers.

Bill flapped a hand at him. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ve two fully functional hands.”

“You need two?” asked Eddie with an arched eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” said Bill, scowling playfully.

Eddie tucked himself back into his trousers, zipping up. He then, without prior warning, turned and pushed Bill to the couch cushions.

“I wouldn’t be much of a guest if I didn’t repay my host,” he said while crawling atop Bill, reaching for Bill’s belt. Bill lifted his hips off the couch obligingly.

“Well,” said Bill, grinning. “If you insist.”

* * *

Upon waking up the following morning with Eddie in his bed, completely naked, Bill decided to make things official. He made Eddie a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast and while they were seated at the table, asked him if he could now refer to him as ‘boyfriend’. Eddie arched an eyebrow and said, “I thought that went without saying”, and that was that; they were now officially an item.

Falling in love with Eddie turned out to be the easiest thing he’d ever done. The months following their coupling were utter bliss. They continued to go to the gym together. They went on further dates, some that took them across the state border. They accompanied each other on work related trips and events. After two months of this, they were practically living together, and after three, Eddie had asked Bill to move into his house. Bill accepted. He moved all his furniture into storage (he would sell it at some point) and made himself comfortable in Eddie’s small, but cosy house in the quieter outskirts of New York. He’d been sleeping at Eddie’s house so often that it didn’t take him long at all to adjust to living there.

On the day of Audra’s wedding, Eddie accompanied him, and he didn’t feel alone as he watched Audra walk the isle toward her new husband. With Eddie’s hand wrapped around his, so warm and familiar, he was certain he would never feel the sting of loneliness ever again.


End file.
